by B. B. Hamel
“There you are.”
I manage to look up at the new voice. Joe smiles at me, leaning against the dumpster. He comes toward me, a blurry figure. He leans toward me with a wicked smile on his face.
“You don’t look good. Here, let me help you.” He takes me by the waist and steers me away from the dumpster.
I want to say something. Like, I don’t know him, he’s a total stranger. Help me, someone. I don’t want this. Ahead, there’s a van, a huge, gaping black van, and he pushes me inside. I hit the floor like a sack of bricks. My body isn’t responding anymore.
I hear Lacey say something, but I’m not sure what. There’s a scream, piercing and bloodcurdling, but the doors of the van slam shut and everything goes black after that.
2
Logan
I stand across the street from an old warehouse deep in the north part of the city. It’s a big brick thing with graffiti all over the front, but the windows and the doors are all intact, which is strange for this neighborhood. This is the part of the city that time forgot, and although everywhere else has moved on into the twenty-first century, this place is still stuck in the industrial revolution. This factory, in particular, probably used to make candlesticks or some shit like that, although it’s used for a much different purpose now.
I glance at my watch and note that it’s almost time. I’ve been watching the building for an hour at least, and I haven’t seen any activity anywhere around it, which is good and bad. It means that the guys inside are serious and careful, but it also means that they likely have few weaknesses for me to exploit.
Can’t worry about that just yet, though. I can feel the reassuring weight of my gun slipped into the back of my jeans, but if it comes down to a firefight, I likely won’t get out of this place alive.
It won’t come to that. This isn’t some brute force job, anyway. This is going to take a lot more than that. Frankly, it’s the hardest job I’ve ever been assigned, but the money reflects that.
I’ll be set up for a long, long time if I can pull this off.
I let out a soft breath. I know I can pull this off. I’ve done worse, much worse, back when I was a Navy SEAL. I’ve gone through some shit in my time, some real fucking nailbiters, and I made it out the other side. Compared to some of that shit, this is going to be simple.
I stand and head off toward the building. My contacts told me to knock on the blue door in the back, and so I make my way around the building. There’s no sign of life anywhere, which almost disturbs me, but I push that from my mind. I turn the corner and spot the blue door set back up a short stoop.
I climb the three steps then knock. I wait a minute before knocking again.
Silence for what feels like forever. I can’t help but wonder if I’ve been set up or if my contacts somehow fucked me. This is the problem with going undercover. You never know who you can fucking trust. It’s even worse when you work for a private security firm like I do, since there’s no fucking oversight. My superiors can do whatever the fuck they want and they act like they’re above the law.
When the door suddenly unlatches and opens, none of that matters. A tall, bald man looks out at me with a scowl on his face. He’s wearing dark clothes and clearly packing heat, and I know it’s game time.
“You the guy?” he asks.
“Logan,” I say. “Here to see Anton.”
He grunts and steps aside. I walk through the door and stop as he puts a hand on my shoulder.
“No guns,” he says.
I pause then nod. “Back waistband.”
He lifts up my shirt and gingerly takes my revolver. He slips it into his own waistband then pats me down. He finds a single knife, which he doesn’t take, and then gives me a nod.
“Follow,” he says.
He leads me down a dark passage. I can hear noises coming from deeper in the factory, but I try not to think about what they mean. He makes a few turns, which I note mentally, before we end up in a large room with a two-way mirror along one side.
It’s clearly not original. This place has been rebuilt and relatively recently. There’s a table in the center of the room with several men sitting around it, playing cards. Further in, there’s another door leading out of the room.
One of the men at the table stands, smiling broadly. I recognize him right away from the briefing dossier I was given just the night before.
His name is Anton Volkov and he’s a real piece of shit.
“You must be Logan,” he says, walking over. “I hope Nicky here was gentle with you.”
We shake hands and I grin at him. “I’ve had worse pat-downs at the fucking airport.”
Anton laughs. “Good, good. Come, meet the others. We’re excited to get started.”
“I am too.”
Anton leads me over to the table where I shake hands with some of the most despicable men in this city. I recognize a few of their names, though one or two of them are new to me.
They’re all members of the Russian mafia at some level. They’re all killers, rapists, and thieves, the sort of men that my security firm both kills and works with. It’s a dirty, unfortunate situation, but we need them for their information, and they need us when they go to war with each other. For the most part, we have an understanding.
I’m going against that understanding. Sometimes, when the money is right, unwritten rules can be ignored. I have the blessing of my superiors, though they’ll deny all knowledge of what I’m doing if I get caught. That won’t stop them from taking their twenty percent if I pull it off.
After the introductions, Anton pulls me aside. I have to restrain myself for a second. He’s shorter than me and fatter, with a solid beer gut and a thin-looking beard. When he talks, spit flies from his mouth, which disgusts me. I want to pummel him for being such a horrible monster, but I have to hold back.
Anton is as bad as any of the other guys at the table, but he has a special place in my heart. Anton is a killer, thief, and a murderer, but he does one thing that sets him apart.
He’s a sex trafficker. More specifically, he specializes in finding young, foolish American girls and turning them into sex slaves for the Russian mafia.
Nothing disgusts me more than him. I hate his profession, everything about it. I wish I could kill him right here and now.
Instead, I have to pretend to be just like him.
“Listen Logan,” he says to me, standing too close. “We have a little surprise for you.”
I raise an eyebrow. “What kind of surprise?”
“Well, well, you know how it is, Logan. We can’t be too careful in this business, right?”
“Sure,” I grunt. “But I don’t like surprises.”
“It’s not a bad surprise, trust me.” He gives me a stupid, evil grin. “You come highly recommended, you know that?”
“I’m good at my job,” I grunt at him.
“I bet, I bet. My bosses, they sang your praise.” He eyes me for a second. “But I’m not so trusting these days. So we have a little test for you.”
I stare at him, not sure where he’s going with this. From what I was told, my cover story was going to get me into this group of men without a problem. My superiors called in some favors with the Russians and they agreed to let me infiltrate this little sex trafficking ring in exchange for future favors. They don’t know what I’m doing here and they frankly don’t want to know. They promised they’d smooth my entrance over, and everything else is up to me.
There was no mention of any fucking test.
“I don’t like tests,” I say to Anton. “If I’m not wanted here, I won’t fucking be here.”
“Come on, don’t be like that,” he says. “Just listen. You’re going to like it.” Anton steps away from me and looks over at the guys sitting at the table.
“Boys,” he calls out. “Who’s ready for a fucking lineup?”
The guys all stop what they’re doing and cheer. I have a sinking feeling in my stomach as Anton grins at me then mo
tions at Nicky.
The lights shut off suddenly. It’s very dark in the room and the guys all laugh, making spooky sounds. Suddenly, a light comes on, illuminating the room on the other side of the two-way mirror.
I stand there, transfixed and horrified. Lined up on the other side of the mirror are about ten girls ranging in ages from fifteen all the way up to maybe thirty. Some of them are beautiful, some of them are ugly, and all of them looked sleep deprived and miserable.
They’re wearing lingerie, though it looks dirty and used. Some of them look like they’ve been beaten and hurt, which makes my fucking blood boil with rage.
I have to control myself. Anton is staring at me though the other men are watching the girls and cheering. The girls, meanwhile, stare straight ahead blankly, clearly not able to see or hear us.
They’re the fucking slaves Anton has in his stable. I take a step toward them, trying to get a better look and working to keep myself under control. I can’t afford to slip up here and reveal any of my anger, or else Anton will see through me.
I’m supposed to be a trainer. Or at least that’s what the Russians told Anton. I’m supposed to be one of the best slave trainers from New York City, coming down on loan from the Russian mob there. Anton apparently just lost a guy to the recent turf wars, and he needs me to fill in that position.
“What do you think?” Anton asks me softly. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”
I stare at the girls, and I wish I had my gun. I’d mow down these bastards and free the girls.
But that’s not my goal and I know it. I have to keep myself under control.
“Beautiful,” I say. “But what’s the test?”
“Pick one,” Anton says. “Pick one, break her, train her. Make her a perfect little slave. And then I’ll accept you.”
I stare at the girls, horrified, but I knew this was a possibility.
I take a deep breath and nod. I walk down the line of girls, inspecting them, looking closely. When I get to the seventh girl, I stop and stare at her, my pulse jumping in my chest.
She’s gorgeous, absolutely stunning. She’s in her early twenties and looks like she was abused the least out of every girl in the lineup. Her eyes are wide and deep green and her hair is a thick auburn color. She has a perfect figure that practically spills out of the skimpy, tiny lingerie they shoved her in.
I stare at her for a second before nodding at her. “This one,” I say.
“Perfect,” Anton answers, laughing. The men all cheer then stand up and begin making their own choices. “You made a great choice, Logan, my friend,” Anton says. “That one is particularly stubborn.”
“What now?” I ask him.
“Now you meet her. Then you both travel to our compound in Mexico for the real work.”
I nod and glance back at the girl. I expected the trip to Mexico, since I knew that’s where they do most of their serious training work. But I didn’t think I’d be going so soon.
It doesn’t matter. I stare at the girl, my eyes hard, and I wonder what she’s thinking.
Riley Nosek. Daughter of the filthy rich furniture magnate, Rufus Nosek. Anton clearly doesn’t know what he has here, or else she’d be squirreled away somewhere very, very safe.
Instead, Rufus hired my firm to take care of this. More specifically, he requested their best man for the job, and apparently I’m the right fit.
The poor fucking girl. But I’m here now, and I’m going to save her. I still have a role to play, and it might get rough for her. But I’m going to make sure she gets through this.
And I’m going to make sure the rest of these sick bastards pay.
3
Riley
I wake up sweating like I do every morning, the nightmare still fresh in my mind.
It’s been the same every night for the past week. My father stands over me, his eyes glowing red, a belt in his hands. I beg him not to, I beg him, I cry and scream but he beats me anyway. He lashes me again and again until I feel the blood flowing down onto the ground.
I stare at the ceiling, my whole body aching, my head dizzy from hunger. The nightmare isn’t so much a dream as a memory, though he never took it that far. He never actually made me bleed.
But he loved that belt. If I ever did something inappropriate, he turned to that belt and he made me know how I had messed up.
I smiled ruefully to myself. Now I welcomed that belt. I would have preferred it to my present hell.
It’s been a week since the night at the club. At least, I think it has been. Time is fuzzy when you’re locked in a cell with nothing but a toilet, a mattress on the ground, and a single blanket. There’s a light on the ceiling that never turns off, and it drove me crazy that first few nights, but now it’s not so bad.
I don’t know what happened to Lacey. I woke up in the cell and I screamed and screamed until a man came and hurt me. He pinned me to the floor and told me that if I screamed again, he’d cut out my tongue. He smiled at me, this creepy smile, and I believed him. He was bald with broad shoulders, and I knew he could easily follow through with his promise.
I didn’t scream again. The bald man came every day in the morning and again in the evening with food, but it was never enough. I was always hungry. I drank water from a spigot above the toilet, and mercifully the toilet flushed.
This morning is different, though. I can’t really say exactly why as I roll over and sit up. Breakfast hasn’t arrived yet, which is strange. Normally the bald man wakes me up with food, but not today. Maybe it’s still early, or maybe they’re not feeding me anymore. Not knowing what time it is or what’s happening outside is maddening.
I don’t know why they took me. They haven’t told me a single thing yet. I asked the bald man on the second day what they wanted from me, but he just hit me across the face and then left. I didn’t get dinner that night. I learned not to ask questions.
I lean back against the wall and stare at the ceiling. I used to think my life was a prison, but it wasn’t as bad as this. Sure, my father is a controlling piece of shit that beats me when I step out of line, but I could manage that. I wasn’t allowed to go to college, but a lot of people don’t go. Father expects me to marry the son of one of his business contacts one day, like some kind of political marriage, but I guess that isn’t happening anymore.
Maybe he doesn’t care that I’m gone. Maybe he’s going to leave me here to rot. He’d probably whip me for getting taken, anyway, find a way to blame me. I’m probably spoiled good now, though I don’t think anyone has touched me.
The sound of footsteps in the hallway outside my cell pulls me from my thoughts. I sit up expectantly, hoping that today the bald man will give me something new, something different. Maybe he’ll give me a sign and tell me what he wants from me.
The slot in the door opens. Instead of breakfast coming through, he pushes a bundle of clothing.
“Put it on,” he says simply.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Dress. Now. Or I’ll hurt you.” The slot closes.
I lean forward and pick up the bundle. To my horror, I realize that it’s an old lingerie set.
I stare at its revealing lace and want to vomit, but there’s nothing left inside of me to vomit. Slowly I stand, trying not to cry, and I take off my clothes. When I’m finished, I pull on the lingerie.
It’s too small, but I manage to get it on. You can practically see my nipples through the sheer cloth and I’m terrified, so absolutely afraid of what they’re going to do to me. I sit back down and cover myself with my old clothes, holding back the tears. I have to be strong right now.
I suspect things are going to get worse for me soon. If I can’t handle this, I won’t be able to handle what’s coming. I need to be strong, or else they’re going to break me and I’ll lose whatever is left of myself. I can’t let that happen.
I take a deep, sharp breath. I have to survive this. I haven’t been able to live my life yet. I went from the prison of my father’s house t
o this prison, all because I wanted to enjoy one night of freedom.
I won’t back down. Not yet.
After a few minutes, the footsteps return. Instead of the slot opening, though, the door itself slides across. Standing there is the bald man.
“Get up,” he says.
I rise slowly. He grabs the clothes from my hands and throws them on the floor. He grabs my elbow and pulls me from the cell, shoving me into the corridor.
I blink and stare at the other girls lined up there. I had no clue there were other girls in this place. I never heard a single sound the whole time I was locked up. The girls all range in ages, and they look as afraid as I do. Some look like they were beaten a lot more than I was, which frightens me. Obviously these men are capable of more. I got off easy so far.
“If you speak, I will cut out your tongue. Then we’ll sell you to the Chinese to work as a mute slave until you die.” He says it loud enough for everyone to hear, but he’s looking right at me.
I nod, not wanting to risk responding. He shoves me into line with the other girls. We avoid each other’s gaze as the bald man crosses his arms and looks at us.
“You’re a sorry fucking bunch,” he says. “If you want to survive, you’ll do as you’re told. Now come.” He turns and we begin to follow him in a single file line.
For a second, I wonder why we’re not trying to attack him. But then I see the gun in his pants, and I know he’d kill most of us. Maybe all of us. And he can’t be alone. We’re a bunch of scared, mostly-naked women, and they have guns. We’d get killed without a doubt.
And I want to survive this. I can get through it.
We follow the man down a series of halls. There are other guards posted at various places, but they don’t pay us much attention. Finally, the bald man opens a door and ushers us into a room. He lines us up with our backs to the wall. The room is long and thin, empty save for a mirror on the opposite wall.
